


Nice to meet you, or something

by melonbutterfly



Series: Not A Porn Star [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-28
Updated: 2011-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-17 08:04:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonbutterfly/pseuds/melonbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 6am on a Thursday morning when Rodney keeps someone from doing something useful and, by accident, meets John Sheppard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nice to meet you, or something

Rodney doesn't actually _like_ being outside. There's insects and children and people and animals, all of equal annoyance, with the exception of those people who sell food.

Nevertheless, he goes outside on occasion and takes walks; mostly on the beach, because he likes sand (except when it goes places it isn't supposed to go) and wind and the ocean, and if he goes outside really early, there's few people to bother him. Of course, to him it's not really early because Rodney on principle does not get up early; he stays up late.

That's what he's doing on his birthday in late May. It's around six am in the morning, and the only people around are some joggers and people with dogs. The sun has risen perhaps half an hour ago, and it's still not full daylight; it's sort of dusty, doesn't feel quite real yet. Rodney enjoys this sort of mood; it clears his brain, and he can think better. He has had some of his best epiphanies when he was out in the early morning hours.

He doesn't expect that to happen today, though; he's already on his way back to his flat, and he hasn't been thinking so much about work as about his birthday. He figures if no time else, he can allow himself some thinking about his family one or two times a year (the other time being Christmas). But he has been venturing into too depressing areas, and it's made him gloomy; he doesn't like being gloomy, because then he gets depressed by the most silly things, and he hates nothing more than being silly. That's why he's idly thinking about a problem at work in an attempt to distract himself. They're working on hyperspace communication, just something he and Radek are playing around with, because of course they have nowhere to send the communiques to. Nowhere known, at least. But it's obvious that, if they know how to send such communiques, they will also know how to _receive_ them. And who knows what might be flying around in hyperspace, just waiting to be caught by them?

It's just a dalliance; they don't actually get paid to play around with stuff like that, but Rodney knows it's possible, and if they manage... well, he might get his Nobel Prize for that.

But for now, it's just playing around, something to idle the time with. Right now, they're having a problem with the amount of power that is needed to get messages into hyperspace to begin with, but if he-

He needs to write that down, but when he digs his notebook out of his pocket he finds his pen isn't working. But he needs to note the brilliant idea he just had, or he might lose it; it wouldn't be the first time. Wildly, Rodney looks around, trying desperately not to stop thinking about the shortcut he was just considering. And just a little ahead, there's an artist drawing on the ground with coloured chalk; Rodney quickly strides over to him and says, "Can I borrow this?", not waiting for a reply before he takes a piece of chalk and moves a little away, starts to develop the formula for the idea he just thought of on the pavement. The artist is saying something, but Rodney wipes his voice away with an irritated wave of his hand. He's too busy scribbling on the ground; it's not unlike writing on a board, except that it's horizontal and not vertical. The only problem is that he can't erase anything, but it's alright, he manages.

When he's finished – well, not _finished_ finished; he's done working out this part of the formula – he straightens with a groan; he didn't even notice while he was off in his head, but his back and knees now protest the bending over and crouching he did in his excitement. Rodney stretches a little, his back cracking, and then he takes a step back to look down at his work. It looks good; he'll have to show it to Radek, see what he thinks.

"Are you trying to explode something?", a voice asks.

"No," Rodney replies absently, disdainfully. "Don't be an idiot."

Somebody gives a laugh at that, and Rodney blinks and looks up. He turns around to find some guy standing behind him; he's wearing shorts, running shoes and a t-shirt, obviously a jogger. The guy is taller than Rodney, but only by maybe half an inch, and his hair looks crazy, even with the wind that's blowing. In his hand, he's holding an iPod and a pair of sunglasses, which is silly, because the sun isn't nearly bright enough yet to necessitate that. "But you're trying to amplify something volatile," the guy says, eyes dancing.

Rodney narrows his eyes. "Something unstable," he corrects. "You can understand this," he then states the obvious.

The guy pulls up his shoulders, throwing a weird glance at Rodney before he looks back down at Rodney's scribblings. "I like math," he says. "I did some at college."

"You 'did some math at college'?", Rodney repeats disdainfully. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Got a degree in Aeronautical Engineering," the guy shrugs. "Mathematics too." He looked relaxed before, but doesn't anymore. There's a tenseness in his shoulders, and he avoids looking at Rodney; it doesn't make any sense. He was the one who addressed Rodney first.

"Hm," Rodney makes non-committally and looks back down at his formula. "You don't happen to have something to write on, do you?"

"No," the guy replies, raising an eyebrow. "Don't you have a mobile or something? To take a picture with."

Rodney scoffs. "Do you think I actually want to _encourage_ people to contact me? It's bad enough they bother me when I'm at work, I certainly won't make it easier for them to do it while I'm not there."

The guy gives another laugh, looking a bit more relaxed again. "That's something I never thought of."

"Well, there you go," Rodney sniffs. "It's not your fault, we can't all be geniuses."

"You are one, aren't you?", the guy says, looking at Rodney. "A genius."

"Yes, yes," Rodney flaps his hand. "Smartest man on the planet, actually. Do _you_ have a mobile?"

"Uh, yeah," the guy says.

"Well then, what are you waiting for? Take a picture."

The guy sends him a look, but obediently takes a shiny mobile phone out of his zipped pocket and takes a picture.

"Good. Can you send emails with that?"

"Uh, yes," the guy replies, shooting him a glance. "Sure."

"Excellent, send it to me," Rodney orders and spells his email address. "Write that it's my formula in the subject line, otherwise I might miss it."

"Sure," the guy says laconically. "So you're Scottish?", he asks while typing.

"What? No, Canadian. Well, my ancestors are from Scotland, but that was generations ago. How did you know?"

"I thought you were a genius," the guy says, sounding amused. "Your email address has McKay in it. I assumed that'd be your name."

"Yes, well, okay," Rodney admits. "I'm Rodney McKay. _Doctor_ Rodney McKay. Quid pro quo. What's your name?"

The guy sends him a very long look; in fact, he sort of stares at Rodney for so long it starts to make him uncomfortable, but finally, he answers. "I'm John Sheppard." He sort of looks at Rodney expectantly; Rodney would start to wonder whether he's brain damaged, but what with the studying aeronautical engineering and maths, that seems unlikely.

Then again, a great deal of people Rodney works with certainly must be brain damaged, and they have degrees too. If Sheppard does have a degree to begin with, that is. Studying doesn't equal graduating, after all.

"Well, nice to meet you, or something," Rodney says.

Sheppard tilts his head and looks at him searchingly, then shakes his head slightly as he apparently comes to a decision, and all of a sudden, he seems to relax and a slight smile plays around his lips as he says, "Listen, you wanna get some coffee or something? You could tell me about this amplifying unstable masses thing you're doing."

Rodney raises an eyebrow. "Coffee, fine, but I sure am not going to talk to some stranger about my work," he returns. This part of it is technically not classified and top secret, because it's just Radek and him playing around, but in the wrong hands, this formula could be the beginning of something very, very dangerous. If anybody had some of the super top secret material lying around, granted, and it'd take some modifying, but still.

Which reminds him; he best get rid of this formula. "You don't happen to have some water, do you?", he asks, even though he knows the guy doesn't; there sure aren't any water bottles hidden somewhere in his shorts.

"Ocean's right there," Sheppard says and points with his thumb over his shoulder.

Somebody huffs, causing them both to startle. It's the artist Rodney borrowed the chalk from, holding a bottle of what looks a lot like ocean water and a very irritated expression. "Here. And can I get my baby blue back now? I am actually here to do something useful, you know."

While Rodney gapes and stutters, completely flabbergasted, because the guy is _drawing chalk drawings onto the ground at six am on a Thursday morning_ , Sheppard puts on his sunglasses and takes the bottle with a thanks.

"Did you-", Rodney starts while Sheppard spills the water onto Rodney's formula, " _did you hear that_? He-"

"Yes, McKay," Sheppard says calmly, sounding way too amused. "I did. The guy has a mission. So do we, by the way; there's a nice little coffee shop rather close by, and they're always open." While Rodney still tries to get over _something useful_ and the implied _unlike you_ , Sheppard tries to give the guy his water bottle back, gets informed by the guy that he'd like to get it back filled, thank you very much, and jogs over to the ocean. When he comes back, the bottle is full and his trainers are wet.

They go for a coffee.

Later that day, in the early afternoon, after Rodney had grabbed a couple of hours of sleep and a decent lunch for breakfast, he checks his emails for his formula to show to Radek. He finds not one, but actually two emails from the same address; the first is an empty one with just the picture of his formula as an attachment and the subject line "chalk formula, you should consider carrying some pens and paper with you or something", and the second one doesn't have a subject line but reads,

 

 _Coffee was nice. Let's do it again, yes?  
JS_

 

and was sent at shortly before seven, after he and Sheppard had parted ways, Sheppard for his run and Rodney for sleep.

Well-aware that, as soon as he shows Radek his formula he'll forget everything but this for a couple of hours, Rodney sends back a quick reply.

 

 _Sure, but I don't habitually stay awake that long. Today was an exception; we'll have to find more descent hours to meet up if you really want to.  
RM_

 

Sheppard writes back.

 

 _I see breakfast is out, then. How about lunch or something? And why was today special?  
JS_

 

 _I also don't habitually conform to most human conventions; meaning, I don't eat by the clock. I just had lunch and it's nine pm. Just pick a time and call it "food"; I don't really care what you label a meal, to be honest. As long as it doesn't have citrus or intestines, I'll probably like it.  
It's my birthday. (Well, only for three more hours, but whatever.) It's one out of two times a year I allow myself to get depressed for a bit. I don't usually have the time nor inclination for crap like that.  
RM_

 

 _The intestines I get, but what is your problem with citrus?  
Are you free on Saturday? Around 4pm I guess. Do you like Mexican? There's this nice place here.  
Also, Happy Birthday (it's not quite belated yet). I get the depressed bit, but to be honest, you really don't seem like the kind of person who wallows.  
JS_

 

 _Other than the part where it kills me? Nothing. Citrus and me, we'd be so tight, if it weren't for the deathly allergic thing.  
Is this a date?  
RM_

 

 _Yes._

 

Rodney sits back when he reads that last email from John; he had sent his own just before going to bed at two in the morning. John replied early in the morning, probably after his run (if 6am is usually when he goes running).

Coffee with him had been nice, and with that Rodney means that they got on without talking once about work. Not that Rodney doesn't love talking about work – quite the opposite, really – but he doesn't talk to strangers about his work, not even the part that isn't classified or top secret. He isn't stupid, after all.

He also wasn't really worried, because he's well-aware that he's being tailed 24/7 by the private security firm the American Military set up just to keep their eyes on Rodney and the other guys in his lab. They're not many, but what they're working on is so hot the Americans honestly considered locking them up under some sort of mountain just to be sure. Rodney had disposed them of that notion quickly; he sure as hell isn't going to move out of his really nice apartment and give up his cat and take-out food.

As a result, Rodney has to live with ex-military following him everywhere and with the one thousand and one security measures his apartment and workplace got equipped with. He has the suspicion that they actually bought the whole building his apartment is in, but whatever, he doesn't really care. His ass is worth every expense, and they know it.

So, if Sheppard had been some sort of spy set on doing something to him, he would've been knocked out by two to three former (or perhaps not-so-former) soldiers in under a minute. Also, by now the firm will have vetted and thoroughly examined Sheppard and his life and probably his whole ancestry two generations before they set foot on the continent. They're that paranoid (not that Rodney is complaining; a little healthy paranoia has never harmed anyone). They won't let Rodney see the records, but if they had even the slightest suspicion that anything is wrong with Sheppard, they would've informed Rodney by now. That they haven't means that Sheppard is clean.

Rodney is curiously happy about that.

It's not just that usually, he doesn't meet new people; the only time he does is at work or on scientific conferences, and then they of course already have a common ground. Rodney doesn't know how to be nice, and he sees no reason to pretend otherwise; he sure hadn't during that coffee date (had that been a date already?). But Sheppard had seemed to be amused more often than not by Rodney's more outrageous claims, and even when he disagreed, he didn't get offended. Instead, he argued with Rodney, and actually he hadn't seemed too brain-damaged and made some interesting points every now and then. And they had only talked for a little more than half an hour before Sheppard had had to go.

And he genuinely wants to see Rodney again, that much is apparent.

So it's not just that Rodney isn't used to meeting new people. It's also and probably mostly that he's not used to meeting new people who immediately want to date him. The people who are interested in him either want a quick shag shortly after meeting for the first time, or it takes them months and months to get used to him before they are willing to date. Rodney doesn't mind either, but he has never met anybody who meets him and immediately wants to date him.

He likes Sheppard, at least as far as he can tell.

Looks like he's got a date.


End file.
